


Promised Land

by charleybradburies



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Jewish Character, Communication, Community: 1_million_words, Community: ncis_drabble, Diaspora, Drabble, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Female-Centric, Fix-It of Sorts, Hacking, Holidays, Holocaust, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Immigration & Emigration, Israel, Israeli character(s), Jewish Character, Languages, Loneliness, Long-Distance Relationship, Memorials, No Sex, One Shot, POV Female Character, Religious Content, Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Skype, עברית | Hebrew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for NCIS-Drabble Challenge #436: Reminder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promised Land

She is in the Square well before sundown, sipping only from her water bottle, as she’s done all day - a tourist item from one of the Hudson News shops in National which she’d procured before leaving DC. 

By the time the sun’s dipping below the awnings of the cafes and the flags are being lowered to half mast, Warsaw Ghetto Square is packed tight as a tin of tuna. Every word spoken is Hebrew, all of mourning or of resilience - of blessing, and courage; and yet, surrounded by those she knows are her people, she cannot help but feel so, so alone.

Rivlin speaks of the Diaspora, of the exile, of the joy and holiness of their return to Israel, and how the Kingdom of God will come from the bravery of every Israelite. She cannot empathize as she’d prefer to - she still feels like an expatriate here. 

She sits in her apartment, cleaning her gun at night, and thinks of Gibbs’ basement when she closes her eyes and thinks of home. She carries her elderly neighbor’s groceries in, and he tells her a story, and every once in a while she accidentally calls him Ducky. 

Her return home this night seems little different from any other, until she is snapped from her book by a ding at her computer - a Skype message from an unfamiliar mobile number. A 202 number…a DC number. 

She traces it before looking - she knows too well that she must be careful, though she doesn't want to presume that this person hasn't messaged the wrong number. She'd been working on convincing herself that the world was not universally dangerous, that humanity at its core was good, and most people at least tried to reflect that in their goodness. 

A Jake Malloy - she’s never known a Jake Malloy. Perhaps he is harmless. 

His FaceBook page, even with the profile's restrictions bypassed, reveals little, other than the absurdly photogenic blonde to whom he is married and his appreciation of baseball.

Harmless. American, yes, a Washingtonian...and harmless.

_Zahkar, ahuvati sheli: at lo levad._

**_Remember, my beloved: you are not alone._ **

Her eyes cloud with tears, but soon, she starts to laugh. Of _course_ he’d found a way to reach her. He’d _always_ found her, hadn’t he?

Perhaps she should block this friend of his, she thinks, but when she moves her mouse over the button, she finds she cannot do it. 

_I remember,_ she types eventually, and though it takes another hour for her to send it, she does.

_**I remember.** _


End file.
